The Bad Boys of Summer Anthology(153)

“La Grange. It’s in Fayette County,” she adds, as if that might help jog my memory. Fortunately, I don’t have to lie—I’ve never heard of it.

“Must be a small town. What’s it near that I might know?” I ask.

“It’s about halfway between Houston and Austin. And you’re right, it is small. My dad loves to tell people that the population of La Grange is a couple thousand, and that includes horses, cows, and chickens,” she says wistfully. I hate seeing that look on her face, but it’s good to know she has a dad. At least then she might have one parent who gives a shit about her, because that mom of hers certainly doesn’t. All Taryn is to that woman is a meal ticket—a chance to be in the spotlight that no doubt passed her by in her youth.

“Of course, that’s an exaggeration but you get the idea,” she says, breaking me from my thoughts, and just in time to notice her expression change—not in a good way. “And sometimes the town seems too big.”

Okay, I may not be telling Taryn everything about myself, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s got some secrets of her own. Question is, do I want to know what they are?

I decide to let it go, since asking about her past might backfire on me in a big way. “So, all this talk about sweets is making me think it’s time for dessert. Do you want anything?” I ask.

She looks unsure before answering, “No thanks.”

“Hey girl, your mom’s not here, remember?” I joke. “You have whatever you want—I promise not to tell.”

“I really don’t, I swear. I’m completely stuffed, but don’t let me stop you.”

“Nah, I’m good,” I say. “Let’s get out of here then. We can walk all this food off, if you want.” I’m not ready for this night to end so I hold my breath, awaiting her response.

“Sounds great,” she says. I may be projecting my own feelings here, but I think I hear relief in her voice—maybe she’s not ready for the night to end either.

After I flag down Rafael and pay the bill, we make our way downstairs and exit out on to the bustling sidewalk. We walk beneath the trees, which are now lit in what Taryn calls “fairy lights,” as we head in the direction of the ocean.

Stepping off the walkway and onto the sand, we’re instantly greeted by the cool ocean breeze. Beside me, Taryn shivers, so without asking if she wants it or not, I remove my jacket and put it on her. She thanks me as I wrap my left arm behind her back between her shirt and my jacket, holding her close. I feel her body shake again, but this time I get the feeling it isn’t from the cold.

We continue to stroll toward the water in a comfortable silence with the wind serving as a soundtrack to our steps. One thing I love about Los Angeles is having the water nearby. I’d never lived by the ocean before moving here, and there’s definitely something calming about it. I’m no surfer—hell, I don’t even get in that water because it’s too fucking cold—but I love to look at it and listen to it.

Echoing my thoughts, Taryn says, “I love the ocean. Where I grew up in Texas, we weren’t anywhere close to the water and it’s one of my favorite things about living here.”

“Yeah, same here,” I respond.

“Tell me about where you grew up,” she says. Which place? I think to myself. Guess I need to give her something though.

“Ever heard of Cabrini-Green?” I ask and not surprisingly, she shakes her head. “Well,” I laugh humorlessly, “let’s put it this way…‘The Green’ practically puts every other housing project in the nation to shame. And not in the good kind of way. It was a fucking war zone. It actually got so bad that they tore it down a while back.”

“So where does your family live now then?” she asks.

“They’ve moved on…you know, greener pastures and all that,” I say. Much greener, I think.

“I guess that makes sense. Now that you’ve become famous, they can probably afford to live anywhere, huh?”

“Yup,” I answer, leaving it at that. I’m not lying to her, but I’m not going there either. “Speaking of greener pastures, didn’t you say your dad lives on a farm or something?”

“A ranch, actually,” she says, “and as much as I try to help him out, he won’t ever let me. I guess he’s old school like that.” I wish my uncle were ‘old school.’ Dre’s dad never fails to get what he can, when he can.

As we approach a hollowed-out log lying on the beach, I remove my arm from around her back before taking her hand and guiding her to the log. She sits down on it, facing the ocean. And although I love how she didn’t even fuss about getting dirty, it’s cold and I want to feel her body close to mine so I sit down, and then pick her up and put her on my lap. “There, that’s better,” I murmur.

She looks at me and doesn’t say anything, which is fine because I’m done talking for the night. I lean forward and press my lips lightly against hers, letting them linger before leisurely licking the seam of her lips. When she opens, I breathe in the sweet smell of the mojito, and when she touches my tongue to hers, I savor the sweet taste of Taryn. Our tongues maneuver like two tango dancers, each giving and taking while tangling passionately with the other. Her hands wrap around my back, clutching onto my shirt as if it might blow away. I glide my hands up her back, over her shoulders, and to her neck. My right hand works its way back down the side of her body, while my left grabs onto her hair, pulling gently.

Fuck—I forgot about the wig. Suddenly, I find I’m holding it in my hand and surprised, I pull back from the kiss. She looks confused until I hold up the wig for her to see. We both laugh…that is, until I see the expression on her face quickly change to surprise and then fear. I turn and look over my shoulder, spotting a guy not fifty feet away with a camera poised and ready.

“Shit,” I say, but that one word doesn’t really cover all that I’m feeling. Anger at the guy. Disappointment that our night is over. More anger that we have to hide from the world. Even more disappointment that our first ‘real’ kiss was interrupted. As amazing as it was, kissing in front of a roomful of people while filming a video doesn’t count.

Putting her wig back on immediately, I then hold both sides of her head and pull her close to mine so her face can’t be seen. “Taryn, I’m sure it’s fine. He probably didn’t get the shot.”

“Yeah, hopefully you’re right,” she says with a sigh. “And I guess it’s time to get going anyway. I’ve gotta shoot early in the morning with Marcus, and hair and makeup has to be done before that.”

“I get that. Let me at least walk you to your car though,” I say, hating that this night is going to end like this. Not that I want her to think I’m just out for a quick fuck or anything. I truly am enjoying spending time with her.

“It’s alright. I’ve got a driver on standby a few streets over. Plus, we probably need to go in opposite directions.”

As much as I don’t want to admit it, I know she’s right. The gossip rags would have a field day if pictures appear with us together. “Okay, but text me as soon as you get to the car. Got it?”

She nods in confirmation and I give her a quick kiss below her ear before we both stand up with our backs to the photographer. I spot a couple not too far away from us, now looking our way with curiosity. Time to get out of here.

“Nite, Peaches,” I say softly. She looks into my eyes one more time before saying ‘goodnight’ and we take off our separate ways. Fucking paparazzi.





Chapter 11

Taryn



It’s been forty-eight hours and my knees still go weak when I relive that kiss. Trace’s lips were soft but determined, and the way his tongue entered my mouth as if its sole purpose was to find mine undid me. God only knows what would have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted—damn paparazzi.

Since I wasn’t awoken by mom insistently ringing my phone, I’m guessing the guy didn’t get the picture. Thank goodness. I don’t need or want my mom’s opinion about Trace, and her reaction after the video shoot already gave me a glimpse of what she’d have to say about a relationship between the two of us.

Not that this is a relationship—I don’t know what it is really. We’ve had one date and I have no idea if or when there might be another. The imminent return to both of our tours doesn’t exactly lend itself to dating in the traditional sense…or any sense actually. Nor does the fact that both of our lives exist in the spotlight. It’s a miracle that we made it as long as we did the other night without being recognized.

And since our hasty departure, I’ve only received a few texts from him, although I’m well aware of how much Backlash has tried to fit in our few days back in LA so that doesn’t bother me—I’ve been crazy busy too. What I am apprehensive about is the video release party tonight, where we’ll be surrounded by industry people. I can’t help but wonder how he’ll act around me; if he’ll ignore me completely or worse, act like he did the night I saw him at the Grammys after-party. I shudder at the thought and then quickly push it aside—if I don’t get dressed and ready, I’ll never get there to find out.